


Unspoken: The Cigarettes and Alcohol Remix

by pavlablack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: dysfuncentine, Infidelity, M/M, Sexual Content, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlablack/pseuds/pavlablack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Better to sleep with a stranger who's really a stranger than with a stranger wearing the face of someone you've known since you were eleven and loved almost as long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken: The Cigarettes and Alcohol Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cigarettes and Alcohol](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/18222) by archduck. 



> Written for dysfuncentine 2013, for this prompt: _114: The war creeps into their lives slowly, until they both wake up one day and realize they're sleeping with a stranger. Optional Extras: The frustration and uncertainty drives one of them to cheat. Bonus points if it's Remus._
> 
> Credits: This story is a remix of the wonderful Cigarettes & Alcohol by archduck, which she wrote for rs_small_gifts 2012. Once I read it, it became my head canon for Remus cheating on Sirius during the war so when I saw this prompt, I knew I wanted to do a companion piece. This remix was done with the original author's permission and approval. Be sure to check her story out—it's achingly sad and beautiful, and I know you'll love it as much as I do. (Anything else you recognize belongs to JKR, not me. Many thanks to L, themessrs, and archduck for the beta help.)

Remus hesitates before entering the flat. The lock, like everything else here, is shit, and he has to jiggle his key three times before it turns. The jagged metal grinds and makes it impossible for him to enter quietly and sneak past Sirius.

There was a time when sneaking in would have meant surprising Sirius in the bath, laughing as Sirius pulled him in, neither of them caring that Remus was ruining his clothes, not when there were lips to be kissed and bodies to be relearned, even though back then they had rarely been separated for more than a day. There was a time when he couldn't wait to get home, couldn't wait to share every mundane detail of his life with Sirius. There was a time when mundane was something to whinge about and not something to wish for, when the arrival of _The Prophet_ meant the joy of completing the crossword together, not scouring the headlines for the latest list of _Missing_ or _Dead_.

But now, now all he and Sirius share are evasive looks out of the corners of their eyes, and guilty touches that burn like silver against Remus's skin. And he doesn't have the energy for any of it tonight, not when he's thoroughly fucked someone else not an hour before.

Better to sleep with a stranger who's really a stranger than with a stranger wearing the face of someone you've known since you were eleven and loved almost as long.

He clicks the door shut behind him and glances at the too-expensive watch Sirius gave him last Christmas, cursing under his breath. It's far too early for Sirius to be asleep, so now there will be questions he can't answer and questions he can't bring himself to ask. But the flat is quiet and dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of Remus's wand.

"Sirius?" he says, his voice echoing around the empty space.

It's silent for a moment more. And then—

"In here." Sirius's voice sounds faraway and strange, cracking on the second syllable, and Remus wonders if he's getting a cold, or if it's just that nothing about the man is familiar anymore. He makes his way down the hall with a sense of dread, following the trail of smoke and steam snaking out from the bathroom.

When he reaches the door, he realises he's forgotten to remove his coat and boots. It doesn't matter. Not when he doesn't plan on doing anything more than let Sirius know he's back and that no, he can't talk about it, he's just going to have a quick bite to eat and a cup of tea, and of course he'll be coming to bed in a little bit. He's getting better at ignoring the hurt look in Sirius's eyes that says he knows Remus doesn't have any intention of coming to bed, not until Sirius has given up waiting and fallen asleep.

Better, at it, yes, but still not quite immune.

"Hello," he says, plastering a grin on his face as he swings open the door. The heat of the bathroom feels oppressive, incongruous against the winter chill still clinging to his cheeks.

"'Lo." Sirius winks at him from the bath, cigarette dangling from his lips, fingers clutching a wine bottle he holds over the edge of the tub. And it's such a perfectly Sirius thing to do that instead of making his usual excuses, Remus finds himself shrugging off his coat.

"Wine and ciggies in the bath? Why didn't I think of that?"

Sirius offers him the fag. "Not as civilized as I am, Moony."

He can't remember the last time Sirius used that endearment, and he wants to ask him why now, but that would require the conversation he doesn't have the energy for, so he goes for the much easier surface insults he and Sirius have been trading for years. "Not as toffee-nosed, more like," he answers, kicking off his boots.

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, and even though it's sharp and lacking in the exuberance that radiated off Sirius in happier times, it's laughter, and it's familiar, and it's _Padfoot_ , and suddenly Remus wants nothing more than to pretend, if only for an evening, that all is not lost.

He undresses quickly before he has time to talk himself out of it, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and keeping it balanced between his lips the whole time. He's afraid if he stops for even a second, he'll change his mind.

It's been a long time since they've seen each other fully naked—all they have time for these days is a quick fuck against the kitchen counter or desperate hand-jobs in the middle of the night, and they don't bother to remove their clothes anymore—but while Sirius is submerged safely in the tub, Remus can feel Sirius's eyes rake over him. He can practically hear Sirius bemoaning the sharp edges that poke through his skin because he's never home to eat the food Sirius painstakingly prepares for him, or else examining the more recent scars that Padfoot gave him at the last full moon when he thought for a moment that they might tear each other apart.

They _are_ tearing each other apart, Remus reminds himself, and he feels more raw and exposed than he's ever felt in his life. He sinks into the tub suddenly, wanting nothing more than to wash suspicion and guilt and the other man off his skin.

"Merlin, you'll flood the place," Sirius says, as water sloshes over the side of the bath.

Remus wants to cry but rolls his eyes instead, gesturing for the wine. Sirius hands it to him and their fingers brush for a moment. _Liquid courage_ , Remus thinks, taking a swig.

He regrets it immediately. "Where the fuck did you get this? It's revolting."

"I know, but neither of us is raking it in, are we? In spite of all that overtime you're doing." Sirius looks away as he says it, but Remus can hear the accusation in his words.

 _How the fuck can you accuse me of anything?_ he wants to ask. Or doesn't. He shuts his eyes and draws heavily on the cigarette until he feels his fingers burn against the filter. He stubs it out and sets the bottle on the floor, intending to get out but somehow finding himself leaning in to kiss Sirius. And God forgive him, even though he knows the terrible betrayal Sirius is planning, Sirius's lips are as tentative and soft as the lips that first brushed against Remus's when they were fifteen and scared to death, and the hands that rest against his sides are still the same gentle hands that soothe him after the full moon, so careful not to do any harm.

So maybe, _maybe_ there's still hope, Remus thinks, kissing Sirius once more before resting his head against the tub until Sirius gets out, complaining that his skin is starting to prune. 

They order Chinese takeaway because it's Sirius's turn to choose, and share another bottle of cheap wine, which is still terrible but not quite as much so the second time around. They talk about the war—they always talk about the war—but stick to safe subjects like strategy and the Ministry's general ineptitude, staying away from more volatile words like _secrets_ and _spies_.

And when they finally fall into bed together, it's just as good as it always was, but Remus wishes it weren't. He wishes he didn't see, instead of Sirius's face, the blonde Muggle he's been fucking, and he wishes Sirius had just _asked_ him, a month ago at the King's Road, why he was leaning into another man and laughing at some joke he couldn't hear. _Because he didn't want to be asked what he was doing there himself_ , Remus muses, clutching Sirius against him. He can't tell Sirius that it was innocent at the time, because it's certainly not innocent now—but if he'd not had reason to suspect Sirius, he knows he would have never even entertained the thought of touching someone else.

They lie side by side afterwards, and Remus feels himself being pulled under. The sound of Sirius's ragged breathing and his own irregular heartbeat pound in his ears. He wonders if he's having a heart attack, if the combination of too much alcohol and nicotine and suspicion is going to kill him at last, and he almost wishes it would.

But then Sirius turns, and Remus can feel his eyes studying him in the dark, as he always has. And he can't, he just _can't_ reconcile this man who drives him to exasperation with his constant worrying with the one who is planning to betray their best friends.

 _Maybe it's not too late_ , he tells himself, as Sirius pulls him close. Remus wraps his arms around the man he still can't help but love and whispers, "I love you," trying to infuse in the spoken words all the unspoken ones in his head— _tell me, just tell me, we can figure something out_.

Sirius is silent for far too long, and Remus has nearly fallen asleep when he hears the response.

"I love you, too."

But it's too little, too late. He waits until Sirius has fallen asleep before untangling himself from their embrace. He quietly packs a bag and shows up at Dumbledore's office an hour later, finally sharing his suspicions.

And when Sirius is caught the next night— _laughing, for fuck's sake!_ —after killing all of their friends, Remus holds it together long enough to be debriefed before he stumbles back to their flat, the only home he's known since leaving Hogwarts. He heads to the bathroom on shaky legs and throws open the door, his eyes landing first on the ring around the tub where he and Sirius bathed together the night before, and then on the flecks of what must be Sirius's vomit in the toilet. He collapses over it, letting their bile mix together as he retches and retches, trying in vain to empty himself out.


End file.
